Strong Hands Cradle Broken Pasts
by quisinart4
Summary: Felicity shares with Oliver her island story. ONESHOT established Felicity/Oliver


**Title:** Strong Hands Cradle Broken Pasts

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much to those who commented on my last Olicity piece. You all are very encouraging. :) Here is something new and a bit on the angsty side. The way Emily Bett Rickards delivered the line about Felicity's mother in the last episode broke my heart and sent my mind into overdrive. Trigger warning for mentions of child abuse. All statistics from the Child Help USA website. Cover image thanks to **megexpress** tumblr.

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><p>He looks over halfway through the presentation to find her eyes full of tears. Felicity tends to become emotional at some of the fundraising events they went to. Two months ago when they were at the fundraising event for the animal shelter, she had tears streaming down her face during the slideshow and had nearly signed up to adopt ten puppies before Oliver reminded her that they have a day job, <em>and<em> a night job. They had to remember to take care of themselves most of the time; bringing a pet into the mix just wasn't fair, much less ten. So she'd nodded and stepped away, but had started a mission to have the animals adopted by posting ads on Craig's List and starting a monthly e-mail circulation list for the shelter.

But these tears are different. They look... tortured.

"Felicity?" Oliver whispers, leaning towards her as his hand automatically reaches for hers.

She jumps in her seat and turns towards him, blinking quickly against a flood of tears. But a few fall anyway and trail down her cheeks, leaving a trail of watery make-up in their wake. "Hmm?"

"You okay? I know this stuff is really hard to hear about-"

"Yeah, yeah," she nods quickly, turning away as she sniffles. "I'm just- I'm gonna go the restroom, fix my make-up-"

She's out of her seat before Oliver can say another word, head down, making her way down the aisle for the exit. Oliver looks over his shoulder to meet Diggle's eyes. The other man is standing against the back wall with the other bodyguard staff of the wealthy guests, but he noticed Felicity's quick exit and arches an eyebrow at Oliver in questioning. Oliver simply shrugs and tries to turn back to the presentation, keeping his peripheral vision locked on the door Felicity exited through.

She doesn't come back until the presentation is over, make-up fixed, and smile as bright as ever.

But Oliver notices the way the light doesn't quite reach her eyes.

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><p><em>A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds.<em>

_Child abuse occurs at every socioeconomic level, across ethnic and cultural lines, within all religions and at all levels of education._

_Approximately 70% of children that die from abuse are under the age of 4._

The statistics from the evening's program fly through Felicity's mind as she gets ready for bed that night. They haunt her as she brushes her teeth, they echo in her mind as she changes into her pajamas, they fill the space in her bed as she climbs under the covers and waits for Oliver to join her side.

He notices her quietness since they left the hotel, but doesn't say a word, simply watching her quietly from the corner of his eye.

"Thea looked beautiful," Felicity comments vaguely, trying to fill the empty room with words. The silence is deafening, and for once, she doesn't want to be the one responsible for filling it.

Oliver nods from across the room as he changes out of his tux. She's sitting on the bed cross-legged, hair down, face free of make-up, in one of his t-shirts, and she looks so lost that he wants to hug her. But she has her thinking face on, the one that signifies she has something on her mind and don't touch her yet, so he tries to respond as best as he can. "Yeah. The dress was a little low cut in my opinion-"

"Oliver." She rolls her eyes at him being his usual big-brother self.

"-but yes, she looked beautiful. So did you."

"I think all the evening gowns I've chosen lately are green. What do you think of that trend?" She turns to him with a smile, but it's a feeble one, wavering at the edges and trembling to pieces under the pressure.

It breaks his heart.

But he plays along.

"I approve."

"You approve of anything that gets me naked in the end."

"That I definitely approve of," he says. He drops his tux jacket on the floor, moving towards her on the bed cautiously as if she's a wounded animal. He can't take it anymore, and he has to reach for her, his hand touching her bare knee gently to make her look up at him. "Felicity? Are you okay?"

"Yeah- I- why wouldn't I- of course-" But her breath hitches at every word, her chest rises and falls with the pressure of answering, and suddenly tears are streaming down her face before she can help herself.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. Felicity, it's okay, I'm right here."

In one fluid motion, Oliver picks her up from the bed, moving her into his lap as she burrows her head into his chest like a child seeking warmth from the cold. He fights down the panic rising in his system, telling himself this isn't about him, this is about _her_. His hands run through her hair, fingers fumbling in the golden locks as he wishes he could ease the pain away. But exactly where this pain is coming from, where it's hurting, he doesn't know.

The sobs are overwhelming her, and she pants in agony as the urge to cry and the need to breathe fight against each other, leaving her gasping for breath as she clutches to Oliver. She holds on to him tightly, focuses on the feel of his strength that makes her feel warm and cherished, the way his chest rises and falls in sync with her own as if he can't bear to be out of rhythm with her.

"Shh, shh, I'm right here. It's okay."

Slowly, she quiets down, her head still buried in the plane of his shoulder, her mouth full of his white dress shirt. She nods into his chest, takes a deep, shuddering breath as she pulls away. She doesn't meet his eyes, but looks at the wet spots on his shirt due to her tears.

"I got snot all over your shirt."

He lets out a huff of laughter, small but she hears it, then pulls her closer to his chest. "I don't care. That's what dry cleaners are for."

She holds on to him tight as he picks her up and moves them under the covers, not caring that he's still half-dressed in his formalwear. All he wants right now is to hold her, and all she wants is to be held. She curls closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist as her breathing returns to normal.

"You're wearing your sexy suspenders and we didn't even get to have sexy suspenders sex."

Oliver's grin is hidden against the skin of her neck but he raises his head to drop a kiss on her cheek. "I'll wear them again for you tomorrow."

"I'd say yes, but it just won't be the same if you wear them every night. It's solely for special affairs," she tells him, her breath rustling against his chest as her hands pull lightly at his suspenders. She finally looks up at him, red-rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks, beautiful as ever as she smiles at him shyly. "Thanks."

Oliver only nods, his eyes never leaving hers as he waits for what she'll say next.

"I don't like to talk about it," Felicity begins with a shaky breath. Her eyes dart around her bedroom, to the lamp and then the closet, to her bathroom door and her laptop, then finally she meets Oliver's eyes. "It's like my own island story."

He nods again, understanding the analogy perfectly, appreciating her symbolism more than he can say. Sometimes he thinks all he's filled with are island stories, things he won't share, things that are buried so deep that there's no point in extracting them out now, because the pain will only hurt now more than ever. Better to leave it buried, to let the memories die and be replaced with better ones, with happier ones, with ones of Felicity.

She takes a deep breath, a shudder passing through her quiet frame so visibly that he puts a hand on her back to ease her through it. But her words are so chilling that he's the one left trembling, he's the one left trembling with no one to ease his pain.

"My mother used to hit me. Sometimes. Not a lot!" Felicity adds quickly, as if she's scared she's already given the wrong impression by saying anything at all. "Just sometimes. When money would be tight and she'd be drinking... kids are expensive, you know..." She shrugs under the covers, the gesture so confusing and heartbreaking, as if she's thinking over just how expensive she must have been as a child. "And my parents never went to college so it was really hard for them to keep a job. You know, statistics prove that people without college degrees are more likely to be changing jobs than staying at a steady one."

"Right," Oliver says, simply to say something at all. Instead, his body is pulsing with anger, radiating with a vengefulness that he's only felt when he's had his Arrow costume on. His mind flashes back to when he met Felicity's mother a couple months ago when she'd visited for the weekend. A nice enough woman, brunette and pretty, rambling at the end of her sentences as she asked Oliver questions about his family. He never would have thought-

"You're really not gonna like my mom anymore, right?"

Oliver blinks at his thoughts being read so correctly, trying to smooth over his frown lines as he looks at a Felicity staring at him in amusement from inches away. "I- no. No, I'm not."

She chuckles. Chuckles, for god's sake, and Oliver scowls at her in astonishment. The anger comes flooding back, his hands shaking for his bow as he fights the urge to hit something, to unclench his hands and try to calm his racing heart.

"How can you laugh? This isn't- this isn't funny, Felicity. I-" He stumbles over the words, mouth opening and closing to try and tell her exactly how god damn serious this, exactly how angry he feels at the thought of bruises on her young body, at the fear seizing him that one day it could have gone too far, that-

"Hey, it's okay." He lays in stunned silence as she becomes the one comforting him, reaching for him and wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling his head to her own so their foreheads touch. She runs her hands through his stubble, relaxing his clenched jaw, sliding her fingers through his short hair to soothe him. "It was a long time ago. I'm okay. I'm here."

"I don't care how long- it's not right- it's not right." His arms pull her close, holding her so tightly that he can feel her entire body move with each inhale, can feel her body shudder as she nods in agreement.

"I know, it's not right. But I'm right here. It's okay," she murmurs, kissing him once before settling herself in his arms again where she fits so perfectly. "I'm fine, I promise. Our kids will be so loved."

Oliver holds her tight, taking in every sensation from the feel of her soft, golden hair to her cold bare feet where they rest against the back of his calves. He takes in her feeling of the skin of her legs and her arms, the way her heart beats in her chest, the way her fingers tighten around his own.

Suddenly, she stiffens and moves back. He looks down in confusion, wondering why she's pulling away, only to find her staring up at him, biting her lower lip, her cheeks red with embarrassment. "I just said our kids. I didn't mean _our_ kids, like our kids. We're not having kids. I mean, we've only been together like, a year. Not that we have to have kids! Maybe we'll have kids with other people. You can have kids with someone else, and I could have kids with someone else, it doesn't mean we have to have the same kids-"

"Felicity?" Oliver leans down, his lips brushing hers gently, his hands cradling the line of her chin. "Shut up." His lips claim hers more desperately, his hands holding her tightly to him as if he's scared she may escape. His tongue probes at her lips, and he hears her moan in approval as she parts her lips. He refuses to part for air, because air is not as important as kissing Felicity is at this moment. Felicity is so much more important. His hands hold the back of her head fiercely, his lips passionate as he plunders her mouth, over and over again, searching for any more secrets locked away, any more pain he has yet to discover. He wants to heal, he wants to soothe, he wants to cherish, and most of all, he simply wants to hold on tight. So incredibly tight.

Finally, he breaks the kiss, both of them gasping for breath, Felicity holding on to him tightly as she fights to open her eyes. He kisses her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, the line of her jaw, down to the pulse in her neck, the beat assuring her that she may have been hurt before, but she's alive and she's here, she's a fighter like him, a survivor like him.

"I love you," he murmurs, his words solemn and quiet, echoing in the bedroom, muffled against her soft skin. He's shy about the words sometimes, saying them out loud doesn't come as easy to him as it does for her, but that doesn't mean he feels it any less. It's visible every time she looks in his eyes.

But tonight, he needs to say the words out loud just as much as she needs to hear them.

Her hands tighten in his hair, her legs wrapping around his own as she sighs deeply. "I love you too," she declares, smiling as she gently runs her fingers through his hair. "And you know, I am totally feeling the need for a suspenders make-out session. What do you say?"

Oliver kisses her neck one more time, trailing back up her throat, to her lips. He grins as he re-claims her lips with his own, but not before he says, "Yes. Yes to the kids, yes to the kissing, yes."

"I- Oliver- I-"

That's all Felicity can manage to stammer before her lips are busy against his own and she loses track of all of her thoughts. He kisses her fervently, passionately, ardently, he kisses her to make up for every tear she had wept that night, for every tear she had wept years ago.

He kisses her to replace an ugly memory with a better one, to replace a troubled past with a better future, to give them both another happy story.

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><p>The next day, the Director of the Starling City Advocates Against Domestic and Child Abuse nearly passes out when opening his mail to find the largest donation amount of the year in the form of a check from one Mr. Oliver Queen. There is also a handwritten letter asking to be updated on the center's current financials and to be personally notified regarding any upcoming budget issues<p>

There's a line at the end where the pen seemed to wobble:

_Thank you for all that you do._

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><p><em>the end ~<em>


End file.
